Disgruntled Valentine
by 1 Ninja Girl
Summary: This AU is something of a spin-off. The life and times of Kay Scarpetta's oldest stepdaughter.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note & Disclaimer:

I'm an old fan of the Scarpetta series and greatly fascinated with the complex character Benton Wesley. Early in the series it was very briefly established that Agent Wesley has three daughters from his first marriage. Michele was the only one mentioned by name, and any stories featuring her are my attempt to get to know her better since, her creator, Patricia Cornwell deprived me of the privilege. You can expect the arrival of any other characters in the series of course, and chapters may be written from their point of view from time to time, but Michele is the focal point of much of the writing. She briefly appeared in the fourth book of the series, titled Cruel & Unusual. You'll also be introduced to numerous original characters who are a part of her life.

Additionally this work, and any that will follow, were originally posted for reading in a group called The Last Precinct which was established specifically for the enjoyment of Scarpetta related fan fiction. A few friends requested that it might be posted here as well, and I offered to undertake that task. Be advised that writing style may vary from time to time as there is more than one author in TLP and although we all collaborate with one another, I have given my word not to alter another's writing without first obtaining consent to do so.

I do not own the rights to any character that was first mentioned in a Scarpetta novel. They are solely the intellectual property of Patricia D. Cornwell. I simply adore them.

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><p>"Damn!" It's nearly ten p.m. I've just arrived home after a dreadful day spent in equal parts in the Richmond morgue and in my cramped office at the Richmond Crime Lab only to realize that I forgot to leave the porch light on when I left this morning. The front door of my home is shrouded in darkness. I approach cautiously; my eyes probing the shadows for even the faintest hint of danger. My key's in my hand; a ready weapon, if need be... Just like I was taught. Why didn't I leave the light on? I know better! Thank God I'm alone out here. Such carelessness, if witnessed, would have the over protective man who practically X-rayed my Halloween loot when I was a kid in full on lecture mode. "Sorry Dad." I apologize to man seen only in my mind; contrite even though he's hours away in Boston.<p>

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><p>Wait! hit the pause button for just a sec. If anyone cares to know I am Michele Wesley; the eldest of three daughters born to Benton and Connie Elliott Wesley, though my parents are no longer together and haven't been since before I graduated high school. Mom is with the guy I affectionately call 'What's His Name' and Dad is finally married to the incomparable Dr. Kay Scarpetta as he should have been long long ago, though I'll admit I didn't always feel so warmly toward the good doctor.<p>

It is Valentine's Day 2012 and I am a 28 year old AFIS analyst who only three months ago changed jobs from the Virginia State Police to the Richmond crime lab. Born on April 1, there is no end to my younger sisters' teasing. With hideously cheery smiles, Lisa and Amanda never tire of telling me that I am the most beloved April Fool's joke every played on two parents... but they usually say it with great affection...usually. As some of you may know, I began my life chasing after the tall shadow cast by my father; a high school principal long ago turned Forensic Psychologist/ FBI agent. Anyhow, in case my mood wasn't well established in the very first word above, it has not been a good day, but I've digressed, now that the introductions are made, on with the story...

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><p>"Damn!" I curse myself for the careless oversight again as I fumble in near blindness to insert the key into the lock. The pen light on the end of my key ring seems to be dying and is of little use to me. "Damn!" I swear yet again. I just can't catch a break today, I think miserably.<p>

I can hear Moose's big feet pacing eagerly on the opposite side of the door. The key slides in and turns, and then I must use my left foot to prevent my barely open front door from closing as I try to free my key from the stubborn lock. After several long seconds the key is released and the next obstacle I must face is getting into the house without letting Moose out. Moose, my faithful companion, is a Black Lab/Great Dane mix who believes he's still a puppy in spite of the fact that he weighs 116 pounds, and he's happy to see me. Wearily, as I try unsuccessfully to nudge passed him I think, it's quite possible he is the only living soul who has been happy to see me all day. Even, my mother was in sour spirits when I stopped briefly at her house on my way home.

"Moose, sit!" I command in frustration, and much to my astonishment he does. I open the door a bit wider and decide to try another one. "Stay!"

Moose obeys, but looks positively miserable doing it.

I finally make my way into the foyer of my small house where a small nightlight burns and I am grateful for its meager glow. I turn quickly to close and deadbolt the door before Moose can change his mind and make a run for it. I'm not up to chasing him though my neighborhood tonight. He's a new member of this household and we are still getting acquainted; still testing each other's boundaries. Moose hates being told what to do; and so do I. He's been here three weeks and so far it's been a battle of wills. Not once has he complied with the training I've tried so diligently to instill. Not once; until tonight.

I unceremoniously dump my purse and keys on the hall table, and reach out to rub his large head in praise. "Thanks for listening pal. It's been an awful day."

Moose stares at me; his big melancholy eyes not so much as blinking.

"What? You want a treat?"

And, with that one word all good behavior is abandoned for a mad dash to the kitchen. I follow; with considerably less enthusiasm. Inside the kitchen, I shrug out of my suit jacket and toss it carelessly over the back of one of the stools at the breakfast bar while Moose turns frantic circles in front of the section of counter where his treat canister sits. I move in that direction, but stop when I catch sight of the folded note propped in front of Moose's favorite container. I unfold the note and begin to read as I absent-mindedly remove the lid.

Gina, the dog sitter I hired, has written to say that she took Moose to the park, less than two hours before I arrived home and that he has already been fed his evening meal.

Moose whines; then barks once impatiently.

"Okay, okay! Gina writes that you just had dinner you know. It's not like you're starving."

He snatches the offered treat, and very nearly takes a few of my fingertips with it.

"Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Fur-face," I mutter as I use a paper towel to wipe dog drool off my hand. "Come on let's go to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be better."

I kick off my heels and pad, in my stocking feet, to the sanctuary of my bedroom with my four legged friend close behind; hoping that the ones I hold near and dear have had a better day than I.


	2. Chapter 2

The sky is pale blue and cloudless; quietly promising a beautiful day to come. I'm only half a mile from home with the morning's newspaper tucked under my arm, and a white paper sack from Georgie's; a quaint little bakery that always smells like heaven every time I walk in.

This morning I decided to spoil myself. I've picked up two beignets; prompting the establishment's plump elderly namesake to smile warmly at me and gently lecture "You know Michele; I don't think it's going to do you any good to run like you do if you eat these."

"That's why I don't eat them every day." I say smiling as we exchange cash for pastry over the countertop.

Georgie had asked how I spent Valentine's Day and when I told him that I had spent much of the day at the morgue trying to obtain viable prints from a trio of uncooperative deceased bloaters, he did what he always does when my chosen profession is the topic of conversation. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and advised me to get a new job… and do it quickly. I left his bakery in good spirits at a trot, waving goodbye over my shoulder.

This close to home; I slow my pace to a brisk walk. It is the Sunday after Valentine's and I am out for one of my morning runs. I love late winter mornings like this one; clear and cold, and Spring is trying to rise from slumber. It's still early. Not many people are out and about yet. It's just me; alone on the bike path. I pass the parking lot of a local grocery store and give little attention to two men climbing out of a battered SUV.

Seconds later I hear the sound of a large dog barking and the two men I've just passed yelling, "Come back Marlon." I smile guessing that Marlon must be the dog, and I wish momentarily that I had thought to bring Moose along to enjoy the morning. He could do with a bit of exercise. I glance back catching sight of Marlon, an enormous white dog whose breed I am uncertain of, who has decided to enjoy his freedom while he can. He's more interested in running about sniffing the ground than listening to either of the men yelling at him, but I do not stop. I keep walking until I hear him growl, and it isn't until then that I realize Marlon has changed course and is headed straight for me. What's more, the dog's attitude has changed. Before spotting me he'd seemed happy; even playful. Now, he's growling and barking. Even his posture is menacing. I quicken my pace, but still do not break out into a run. If I run; it will only excite him to chase me. I tell myself to stay calm and keep moving. In no time at all he's caught up to me and is running circles around my feet growling and lunging. The two men are not moving quickly enough to catch up to us but they are yelling and cursing; and they are screaming at me to stop. I cannot stop; if I do this animal is going to be on top of me. I toss my newspaper to the ground simply to have my hands free and the dog continues to circle. I try again. I show him my bag of pastry and then toss it away for myself telling him, "You want it? It's all yours; go get it!" he does glance briefly in the direction of the discarded bag, but does not go after it. Again I tell myself, "Stay calm; just keep moving." But I reach into a pocket of my fleece jacket; palming my canister of mace. The dog lunges again and catches hold of my pant leg; no skin, just fabric but that's it! My frayed nerves are drawn taunt; ready to snap, and I cannot allow all that. I cannot allow myself to become paralyzed by my fear. I spray mace at the dog's face; hitting my intended target and the dog releases my pant leg instantly. He yelps as if he's been kicked hard enough to break ribs and backs away several feet, spinning in circles and rubbing his face on the ground. He howls pitifully and the two men behind me are still yelling for the dog to stop and when it becomes apparent to them that the dog is injured the larger of the two begins to scream obscenities at me.

"Hey you! Stop, you stupid bitch! What the hell did you do to my dog?"

I glance behind me. He is big bellied, over six foot tall, red faced and out of breath. I step around the injured dog; who is still running in circles, nose to the ground, trying to rub the pain out of his face. I keep moving. I don't want to have a confrontation with this man alone on a sidewalk with no one to witness it but his aggressive dog and his companion.

"Hey damn it; I said stop!"

I turn; still moving; running backwards. "Look Sir; I don't want any trouble." I yell. "Your dog will be alright. It's only mace. I didn't want to hurt him but he tried to bite me."

"Bite you? That's bullshit you crazy bitch! He only wanted to play with you."

For an instant I'm stunned motionless. "Play with me? Mister!" I say astounded. Your dog tore my pant leg!" I can't help but notice that the man doesn't stop to render aid to the dog he claims to be so worried about. Instead, he too, steps around the dog and closes the gap between us.

"That's just because you scared him when you started throwing shit at him!"

"Throwing shit at him? I offered him my breakfast in hopes that he would leave me alone!"

"That's pure crap lady! We saw what happened. Didn't we Jack" the angry man looks back addressing his friend who is kneeling on the ground beside the howling dog. Jack shrugs without comment.

"Look Mister, I defended myself; that's all, and your dog should have been on a leash."

"He would've been. He just got away from me; that's all. It happens, and you wouldn't stop long enough for me to catch him."

"That's because if I had stopped he would have eaten me!"

"Look sweetheart; that's not true and you know it!" He says in a nasty tone.

He's not listening to me, and he's not going to listen to me no matter what I say and I know this. I shrug. "I'm leaving now." I back away several feet before turning my back to him, but he's not done. Before I can take three more steps I feel his hand on my shoulder, but his grip is loose and I easily pull free. I turn; running backwards again. "Don't put your hands on me again." I warn with acid in my voice.

He stares at me for a second. "I just wanna talk to you. You're being irrational." He yells keeping an eye on the canister of mace in my hand.

Aside from scaring me; this guy is really starting to piss me off. "We're done talking! I'm leaving… Now!" I say sternly; telling him with my eyes 'leave me the hell alone.' He starts to back away; turning his back. I watch him stop and kneel to check on his dog and next, thinking that our confrontation is over, I do something that I will berate myself about for weeks to come. I slip the mace back into my jacket pocket before turning to walk away. I take maybe six steps if before I feel his hand on my shoulder again and this time his grip is so fierce it hurts.

Rather than step away from him, this time I step back toward his body thrusting the heel of my right shoe down as hard as I can onto the toes on his right foot. He jerks away nearly doubling over but before he can I drive my elbow backward into his solar plexus, knocking his bulky mass only slightly off balance. He stumbles; and catches himself as I spin around and drive the heel of my left hand into the tip of his nose with all the force I have in me. I feel the satisfying crunch of cartilage accompanied by a warm spurt of blood. He drops to his knees too stunned to speak for a moment and I instantly look for his companion; the other guy. The one called Jack. Jack is standing several feet away next to the whimpering dog. Jack just looks at me and silently holds up his hands as if warding off an attack; shaking his head 'no.'

I nod telling him I understand, unable to speak as I drag in a deep breath and step back trying to put some distance between myself and the one who wouldn't keep his hands off of me, and somewhere behind me I hear the blessedly sweet squawk a police siren. I glance toward the street and see a police cruiser fifteen foot away and moving in our direction. I turn my face to the sky. "Thank you God." I offer in silent praise.

'


End file.
